


Take Control

by Winterkissed_Jasmine



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe mafia, F/M, Frisk is vicious, I can't concetrate on one fanfic at a time, I have a terrible attention span, Modern AU, Possessive Sans, Sexual Content, Smut, So is San, Still love each other tho, Undertale AU, Violence, don't read this if you don't know about the birds and the bees, mafia, mob, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 03:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterkissed_Jasmine/pseuds/Winterkissed_Jasmine
Summary: Sans gripped her tightly, his teeth bared in a snarl, and shook her hard. "What do you want?" Even though he was rough, his voice was a lover's caress.Frisk bared her own teeth, her eyes vicious. "Power." She breathed, and gripped his lapels, dragging him to her mouth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Real talk, I have a bad time at spending time soley on one story so sorry if this seems weird and different from my other fanfic.

A woman drifted through the bar, long dark hair in perfect curls running down her spine. Her dress was far too nice for such an establishment, a deep gleaming burgundy that revealed her slim, smooth arms and the curve of her back. A slit ran up the side, showing toned legs and a peek of a lacy black garter. The patrons of the bar all turned as she walked in, the click of her heels penetrating the thick silence. Her chin was tilted up, caramel eyes locked on the bartender. 

She was a Human, unlike most of the patrons in the bar, and they all bristled as she walked in. The Monster versus Humans was a tender issue, the bad blood burning deep in both races. The bar wasn't considered a Monster only bar, but it was heavily hinted, especially since every patron in there _was_ a Monster. The woman didn't seem to care, she just gave a small, polite smile to the bartender, who's fiery head tilted to the side as he took her in. 

"I believe you're in the wrong place, Miss." The fire Monster said slowly, and his flames seemed to brighten. A casual, gentle threat to try and convince the woman to turn on her delicate black heels. Dark red eyes glare at her. 

The woman smiled pleasantly, her lips a red curve on lightly tanned skin. Her lips parted when another voice interrupted the tense silence that had been brewing ever since she walked in. 

"No, Grillby," It was an amused rough drawl, thick like cigar smoke, and as heavy as velvet. It sent shivers down every patron's spine as the speaker turned on his bar stool to face the woman. "I think she's exactly where she's supposed to be."

The owner of the voice was a skeleton Monster with gleaming glowing pricks in the sockets of his face and a perpetual grin on his face. The creature was finely clothed, in an ivory shirt with the sleeves rolled up, covered by a black vest and trousers. His long, spindly phalanges flattened on the bar top as he stood — he was shorter than the woman but only because of the heels — and his grin turned into a smirk as his eyes slid over the woman's body. 

He stepped closer and glanced around the bar. The patrons swiftly found somewhere to look at, all but Grillby, who watched stoically at the two in front of him. 

The skeleton put out his hand, still grinning. "Don't you know how to greet a new pal?" 

There was a tense moment as the woman's dark eyes slid to the hand being offered to her, before she glanced away dismissively.  "I'm not here to make friends," Her voice was as smooth as silk, delicate enough that it made her seem less dangerous, with a temptress purr lining it. "I'm here to meet with the owner." She spoke this time to Grillby, whose flaming eyes flicked from the skeleton to the woman, but he didn't answer. 

The skeleton slid his hands into his pockets and gave the woman a crooked smirk. "Well, you're talking to the right Monster. I've been sent here to escort ya to him." 

The woman looked at him with more interest than previously and smoothed her palms over her dress. "Then make yourself useful, _pal_." She turned toward the patrons and snapped her fingers. Two Dog Monsters — one female, one male — rose from shadowy alcoves. They moved in unison toward the woman, their large paws glinting with ferocious claws. 

"The boss wouldn't harm ya," The skeleton started, but the woman interrupted. 

"The world is dangerous for an innocent woman like me," she told him, her tone sweet, her eyes not. "You cannot expect me to go with you without my escorts." 

The male dog snarled softly, underlining the subtle threat in the woman's words. The skeleton watched the woman, and his eyes were dark and heady before he nodded once. "Follow me, miss."

The skeleton led the woman through a door behind the hallways, revealing a series of dark hallways. There were doors lining the wall, and in a few of them came thick, lusty moans and grunts. The woman appeared unperturbed, only arching her eyebrow lightly. After several turns and doorways and down one staircase — the woman marking each one — they came to a thick set of steel doors. The skeleton rapped the door in a complicated code and grinned when a sheet opened, revealing yellow snake-like eyes with slits slashing the middle where a pupil should have been. 

The eyes slid toward the skeleton, and then to the woman. "Who's she?" The voice was gruff but distinctly feminine. 

"The boss' guest," The skeleton drawled. "He does have good taste, doesn't he?" He flashed a wink toward the woman, who stared at him stonily. 

The voice behind the door snorted before the sheet slammed shut and the door slowly slid open. The two dog Monsters slid to entrap the woman on both sides, their muzzles curling back to show a faint snarl as she followed the skeleton into the room. 

Calling it a room was putting it delicately. It was almost as large as a warehouse, with stacks of boxes lining the walls and dozens of people milling around. In one area, Monsters were scraping off tags from guns and weapons before sliding them in boxes and reeling them toward a loading dock where a "Grillby's Produce" truck sat waiting. The woman and her two companions took this all in, and the skeleton eyed her as if waiting for an awed reaction. When all she said was, "Where is he?" he seemed almost disappointed, his eyes flickering slightly. 

He gave a fake bow, gesturing vaguely toward a tall man shouting at the Monsters loading the truck. She nodded once toward the skeleton before striding off, her heels clicking on the stone floor, her dress hissing softly on the ground. The tall man turned at her approach and revealed that he, too, was another skeleton Monster. His garb was far more vibrant than the other, with a bright scarlet scarf, boots, and gloves. The pricks of his eyes seemed to widen when she came toward him, as he glanced nervously toward the skeleton behind her. 

"HELLO MISS, MAY I HELP YOU?" 

The woman frowned slightly, her eyebrows furrowing. "We had an appointment that was set for this time." She hesitated. "You are the boss of this establishment, yes?" 

The tall skeleton chuckled and shook his head. "AFRAID NOT, MISS. YOU ARE LOOKING FOR MY BROTHER." 

Every muscle in the woman's body tensed, and she slowly pivoted to look behind her. The shorter skeleton pulled out a cigar and lit it, all while grinning at her. 

"The name's Sans," He spoke his voice more like a cougar's purr. "Now, how about you greet a new pal?" 


	2. Chapter 2

Sans smirked at the woman's shock that she was desperately trying to hide, and the anger of him lying to her. Her anger made her eyes burn, made a soft dusting of red flush her high cheekbones in a way that was all too alluring to him. She was beautiful — for a human, of course — with her long, dark brown hair and just as dark eyes that seemed to eat every part him. Like all humans, her soul burned brightly in the middle of her chest, but hers was like a firework, a deep scarlet. He wondered if it would burn his own soul if he tried to touch it. 

The woman's jaw had been working silently as he led her to a table set in the corner where they could talk more _freely_. Her two escorts followed her, stopping respectfully a few feet away. The male dog Monster handed her a duffle bag, which she took. She had turned her shoulder toward Sans, so he wouldn't see the sweet smile she passed the Monster to thank him. It was the third time, in the span of the last thirty minutes, that this woman had surprised Sans.

The first had been the way she looked at Sans, the way she dismissed him. Her eyes had flicked away, utterly uninterested when she spoke to him, and it _thrilled_  him. He looked at her as a fun new game, a battlefield to conquer. The second had been when the two Dog Monsters rose up from their tables and guarded the woman. Monsters — willingly — working for Humans was rare, as both tended to be racist to the other, deeming the other as inferior. To see the two Monsters fiercely protective of a human was enough for Sans to believe that this woman perhaps held more than a feisty attitude and furious eyes. 

She slid into the booth seat across of him, delicately setting the duffel bag beneath one of her legs, just in case she needed to deliver a kick if Sans decided to try and take it away. She folded her hands on the top of the table and gazed toward Sans. Sans leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table, his chin in his palm, watching the woman across him with great interest.

To surprise one of the most powerful crime lords in the city of New Home was no easy feat. It made him suddenly fascinated with this beautiful creature in front of him. Sans reached up and removed the cigar out of his mouth, tossing it to the ground beside the table, all without removing his gaze from hers. 

To the woman's credit, she did not falter under his heavy gaze, just glared firmly back. It seemed neither of them wanted to cave and speak first. Sans grin grew wider, and he gestured with the hand that wasn't supporting his chin. "So, what's ya name, gorgeous?"

Sans already knew the woman's name, of course. He knew her before she even walked through the door. Ever since she had called him, he had researched her to the point of obsession. He knew her past, her present, where she worked. In fact, Sans had even had one of her lackeys follow her for the last few hours before she had arrived. He was nothing but prepared.

The woman's cheek twitched at his pet name, but she answered anyway. "Frisk." Her voice was like smoke, and all Sans wanted to do was inhale.  

"No last name?"

Her face was a steel fortress, as smooth as liquid. "No." She dipped her head slightly. "May we proceed onto business?" 

Sans grinned. "What's a little business without pleasure?" He turned toward one of her escorts and barked out. "Dog! Fetch us a drink."

Both of the dog Monsters bristled, but none more than Frisk. She laid her palm flat on the table, the movement of her hand drawing Sans attention back to her (though he found that his attention was never really from her, she was too enticing).

"You will _not_ speak to them like that," her words were like a whip. She wasn't yelling, but the fierceness that penetrated her tone was enough. Frisk leaned forward, and Sans thought her eyes flashed red in the dim lighting above them. "They are not lackeys for you to order around, and if that is how you do your business, then this meeting will be very short." 

Sans stared at her, fighting back the shock that was rising in him. This was the _fourth_ time that this puny human had shocked him to the very core that controlled his bones. Slowly his grin tilted up, and he dipped his head toward her. 

Frisk relaxed slightly and turned toward her escorts. "Dogamy, would you mind?" 

The male — Dogamy — nodded and strode toward the door they had entered. The other dog Monster watched him leave, before turning her attention back to the woman. 

Sans still found him watching Frisk through all that occurred, utterly _fascinated._ She intrigued him more than she wanted to admit. 

 _"_ So, doll-face, what do you have for me?" Sans smirked at the way she bristled, and his fingers trailed the top of the table lightly, the tips of his bones scraping lightly.

She bent down and set the duffel bag on the table. He zipped it open and found bags of cocaine and folders. Carefully, he took one out, weighed it in his palm. She interlaced her fingers, smiled slowly at the way his eyes roamed the rest of the bag. 

"I have both produce and... intel." Sans looked up at her words, eye sockets narrowing slightly. 

"Intel on who?" Sans gestured for one of his men, who came and took the bag. The woman's eyes followed the bag before she looked more firmly at Sans. The way she lowered her eyelashes, peering up through them, making Sans swallow quickly. Did she even _know_ the effect she had on him? Likely not. 

"Mettaton. And Flowey. And whoever else you want information on." 

Dogamy returned, holding two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. He poured one for Frisk first — a thing that Sans would've been irritated at if he didn't notice the way Frisk smiled — and then for Sans, respectfully stepping back to the female Monster's side. Sans took a long drink, sitting back in his chair. 

Frisk slowly ran her fingertip over the tip of the glass, a slow, flirtatious movement, but she didn't drink. 

"And how have you gathered this info?" Sans demanded, his eyes glinting warily.

Frisk tilted her head to the side and slowly smiled. Those red _lips_ , Sans found him tracing the movement. "Well," and her voice was sultry. "A girl can't reveal all of her secrets." She continued to trace the edge of her glass.

Sans chuckled, low and dark and rough. He knocked back his glass, that burning school twisting across his magic. "And what do you want?"

Frisk shrugged, a locket of hair falling across her cheek. "Work. Money. A partnership."

Sans eyes burned even brighter, and his grin turned leery. "A partnership? What can you give me?" 

She leaned forward, lips parting in a tantalizing way. "Anything you want." She breathed, and Sans felt something straining in his pants. Those dark eyes were _burning_ him—

She rose abruptly, sweeping back her hair. "You are wondering why you should trust me.  You are wondering if I'm going to turn around and go to Mettaton and Flowey and tell them all that's happened." Sans was wondering what she'd look like on his table, naked. 

Dogamy came up to her, handing her a thick, furry shawl that she calmly draped over her shoulders. "I will proceed to cut all contacts with Mettaton and Flowey for the next week. You may continue following me with that _kid_ that's been following me the past couple of days. If I prove untrustworthy, you can do what you want." 

She was thinking of murder, he was thinking of something _else_. She turned, without saying goodbye, and strode away. It took a few seconds — a few seconds for the ache in his cock to fade — to realize that in a manner of seconds, she had taken control of the conversation, and dismissed _him._

Sans tilted back his head and laughed. 


	3. Chapter 3

Frisk wandered the store without really looking at the clothes, her eye was locked on the child who was still following her. He was a small Monster, small enough that no one gave a second look at him. Except for the fact that Frisk had been seeing him constantly for the last week. The child Monster wasn't quite skilled enough to hide from Frisk, though Frisk was trained enough to spy a tail. 

Dogaressa had noted the tail as well, but at Frisk's command, ignored him. He was the same kid who had been trailing her days before she met with Sans. 

 _Sans_. That whole meeting could've gone a lot smoother, Frisk reflected, grimacing. The skeleton had not been what she had been expecting of one of the more powerful crime lords. She wished, viciously, that she had made less of a fool before him. It made shame burn hot in her stomach that Sans had tricked her. 

Frisk had tried to look up New Home's popular gangster and found _nothing_. All reports had been conflicting, no one quite sure who the notorious criminal was. She hadn't even known that Grillby's was the main place of operation until a responding call told her where to meet. 

However, Frisk thought she handled it quite nicely in the way she had managed to take control of the situation by the end of the meeting. She wasn't an _idiot_ , she had seen the way San's eyes roamed her body, the way they locked on every calculated move. It made her irrationally triumphant when she stood up and saw the bulge in his trousers. The way she felt his eyes burn into her spine. She also couldn't deny how wet she was _after_ the meeting. 

But she wouldn't stop now, couldn't allow him to be a distraction. No matter how heated her skin got when his eyes had raked down her body. Frisk sighed, thumbed through the racks mindlessly, one eye still on the boy who was now sitting beside the waiting room as if he was waiting for his mother to come out. It was a clever disguise if the child wasn't wearing practically _rags_. Even the child was better dressed, he would've fit it in just fine. But no mother of him would be able to afford a _sock_ from the store Frisk was in.

With a jerk of her head, she gestured Dogaressa to move to the side. With careful movements, Frisk walked around the store, swift enough that she knew the child would lose track, and then came up behind. The child wasn't too talented, and he didn't seem to sense her until she gripped his shoulder tightly, her other hand coming up to wrap tightly around his lips. He let out a muffled shriek, and Frisk whirled him behind the racks of clothes.

"Scream, and I'll knock you out." The child's eyes widened fearfully but nodded. She carefully removed her hand and crossed her arms. The child dodged around her only to be confronted by Dogaressa who had come up silently behind. The dog Monster yanked the child up from its feet, wrapping her thick muscular arms around its middle. 

"You tried, I'll give you that." Frisk carefully scanned the store around her, glancing back when she was satisfied no one saw her. "You need to work on your sneaking, kid." She patted its cheek delicately, smiling when he flinched away.

"I was once like you. A street rat, only waiting for the next meal." She said softly. "But there's an intelligence to being a tail, and being a street rat that you don't show." 

The kid's face seemed to crumble, and Frisk felt a pain of guilt. "I'd be happy to teach you though." At the look of hesitation on his face, she clarified. "But, you need to take a message back to your boss." 

He looked away, and Frisk tilted his face firmly back to her, tightening her grip on his chin until it was almost painful. "Tell him that his week is up. He must make his decision in the next day, or I assume our contract is terminated. I will give you a time and place, and I expect him to be there." She told him the address.

She dug her nails into the Monster's flesh. "Do you understand what you must take back to your boss?" He nodded, and she smiled. "Now, repeat it."

Only when he repeated it twice did she nod toward Dogaressa. The dog released him immediately, practically throwing the child on the ground. Frisk left the monster there, certain he would be able to relay the message. 

 

 

She was going to _murder_  that child. Bury him somewhere so remote no officer would be able to find it. As the hours dragged on, her grip on her wine glass tightened to the point where she almost shattered it, the empty seat in front of her all too obvious. Anger heated up her spine, as the clock went from 7 P.M to 8, to 9. The pitying looks the servers were giving her was enough to make Frisk's teeth grind. Finally, she threw down money for her bill and stormed out to where Dogamy was waiting with her car. He noted the look of fury on her face and wisely chose to say nothing. 

The car ride back to her house was stony and silent, and she couldn't even take pleasure in the beautiful city as they drove past. Her home was located on the beach of New Home, a few miles out of the bustling downtown. It was close enough that Frisk didn't feel separated, and far enough that she was choking on the fumes of a million people. There was nothing more she loved than the trip to and from, where the car went over a bridge and traveled a winding road. Frisk rubbed her forehead as Dogamy parked in front of her home.

"See you tomorrow, ma'am?" His gruff voice smoothed her bristling a bit, and Frisk gave him a tender smile, resting her hand on his furry arm.

"Thank you, Dogamy." She got out of the car, striding toward the door of her home. She unlocked it and stepped into the comforting presence of her house, breathing in the scent of lavender and rain as she swiftly kicked off her heels. Frisk found herself staring down at her dress, shame heating her cheeks. She couldn't believe that she had gotten dressed up just to sit alone in a restaurant for three hours. The next time she saw that kid she was going to slowly rip off his skin. 

She stalked into her kitchen, pouring herself another big glass of wine, and chugging it bitterly. To think she had been willing to give up her info on the mob bosses to that... _asshole_. Frisk leaned her head against her fridge, her jaw working furiously when she heard a creak in her living room.

Every muscle in her body froze, every sense suddenly tuned to a slight shifting of a body on a couch.

Her mind dissected the situation carefully as her body moved, silently sliding a knife out of its drawer. She had been lucky that she more or less, moved quietly around her house and hadn't bothered to turn on any lights. If it was an intruder, perhaps they assumed she had gone upstairs. Rolling to the balls of her feet, she crept toward the open doorway leading to her living room. Frisk carefully peeked around the corner and saw a shadowy figure rummaging through one of her cabinets.

 _Oh, you picked with the wrong bitch tonight._ Frisk launched herself forward, forcefully tackling the figure and slamming it into the ground. Full of fury and pain and shame of the last few hours, the adrenaline of it all allowed her to get the upper hand. Without pausing, she straddled the person, the knife slicing downwards, straight to where the throat should've been. 

Instead of following the arc it was meant to, Frisk's whole body froze, the tip of the knife a few centimeters from slicing through the thief's throat. There was a faint blue aura around her arm — around her whole body, Frisk realized. A tingling sensation burning through her whole body, starting from her knife and going to her legs. It wasn't unpleasant, but the unnaturalness of it all had Frisk fighting panic back. Slowly, carefully, Frisk's body started to _rise_. Into the _air_. Frisk gasped and found that her vocal cords were also frozen.

Frisk knew what this was without knowing. She had heard the whispers. It was rumored that some people in New Home had magic — mostly Monsters, they said — and that the people who did have magic generally kept it a secret. It wasn't something to brag about. 

"Guess I shouldn't leave you hanging, huh?" The taunting voice made Frisk freeze in even more fury. She knew that cocky, rough drawl. 

The magic released her just enough for her to hiss out. "Sans?!" A ball of blue flame lit beneath her still hovering body and revealed a grinning skeleton relaxing on the ground. Sans arms were crossed behind his head, a taunting smirk on his face. His left eye was glowing an unnatural blue, the same color as the aura around her. 

"Let me _go_!" She snarled, trying to fight against whatever was holding her. 

Sans gaze was lustful as he scanned her. "I don't think I will. The view is so good from down here, dollface."

Frisk bared her teeth, something _burning_ in her, bright red and like a fire in the middle of her chest. Anger and fury pulsating through her when the bonds around her magic suddenly snapped. She fell and hit the ground hard, the impact making the knife scatter out of her fingers. Sans was beside in her in an instant, a look of shock and confusion on his face, a frown replacing his grin. 

"How'd you do that?" 

Frisk had no idea what he was talking about, all she knew was that she was burning with hate. With a swiftness she didn't even know she had, Frisk rolled, wrapping her bare legs around Sans' torso, flipping him over so they returned to the initial position they had been in, with her pinning him to the ground.

"You _asshole_." She hissed, her palms pressing against his shoulder blades. "First you leave me to be humiliated in that restaurant, and now you attack me in my own _home_." 

The look of confusion on Sans face didn't fade, but the frown slid into a mocking smirk. "This position is even better." 

She felt herself heat up and knew without knowing that her eyes flared scarlet. Strength pulsed through her arms as she pressed down harder. She was going to _break_ him—

Frisk shot to her feet quickly, stormed a few steps away, and rubbed her face until she was sure the red in her eyes had faded. Her hands were trembling, which she hid by fixing her dress that had ridden up to reveal her lace underwear. 

"Did you not get the message?" Frisk finally turned back to look at him and found him sitting up and watching her. His grin was just a firm straight line as he studied her. She hoped that the darkness had hidden her eyes, the way they unnaturally glowed red. 

Sans sneered and stood. "No, I got it. I just had to remind you who was boss after your little rudeness from before." She frowned. No doubt he was referring to the way she had taken control. "Can't have you making all the shots, huh?" 

She bared her teeth. "And coming into my home uninvited?"

He smirked. "Even though I didn't go to dinner, I still wanted to see you." He stepped closer, reaching up and brushing a lock of her hair away.

Frisk jerked away from him, her gaze cold. "Leave. Or I'll call Dogamy." 

Sans smiled brightly. "Aw, but don't you wanna know what I decided?" 

"I _wanted_ to know four hours ago!" She threw out her hand. "Now I don't care! Leave!"

Sans caught her hand between his and gripped it tight, yanking Frisk closer until she pressed against his chest. Without her heels, he stood over her slightly, and his large, bony head bent toward her. Fear shot up her spine. Was he going to _kiss_ her? He didn't, just gripped her tighter. She fought back the disappointment in her chest and fought to get out of his grip. 

"Hey, kid, stop." His voice was gentle, even when she bristled at being called _kid_. "I'm sorry. I do want to give you an answer." 

Frisk eyed him suspiciously. He _sounded_ sincere. "Yeah? And what's the answer?" 

He let go of one of her arms to trail his fingers up her forearm, his eyes locked on the way the goosebumps rose at his touch. She didn't notice, still glaring at him furiously. 

"Work for me, Frisk." She hated out he said her name, but she loved it too. "Work for me." 

Frisk yanked herself out of his grip, stumbling back. "I don't work _for you_ , I work _with you_ , or not at all, Sans." 

Sans looked at her, and she realized just _who_ she was badmouthing. This was Sans the Skeleton, the most notorious criminal in New Home. If he wanted, he could just gesture and she could be dead. Fear shocked through her nerves, and she took another step back, suddenly timid.

A slow smile slid over his face. "Deal." He shot out his hand, and she hid her flinch by straightening and grasping it tightly.

"Deal." 


	4. Chapter 4

Undyne was looking at Sans in the way she did when he wasn't listening. A mixture of frustration, irritation, and the urge to shoot him with her gun, which was currently laying very invitingly on the table. 

"For god's sake, Sans, have you been listening to me?" She snapped finally after an appropriate amount of time of him staring blankly at her.

"Tibia honest, I have not." He said distractedly but truthfully. He _hadn't_ been listening. His mind was somewhere else, on _someone_ else. Sans just couldn't help himself from thinking about Frisk. The human temptress had been on his mind far too much to be comfortable. She was constantly there, right on the edge of his mind. Everything had started to remind him of her. Whisky had quickly become his favorite drink, just because it was hers. He went to the beach near her home often, in hopes that he'd find her wandering around. Every time he saw a head of dark brown curls, his soul jumped, wondering if that was her, and was disappointed when it wasn't. Even though Sans loathed to admit it, it was affecting his work quite a bit. 

His mind wandered back to the night he had appeared in her house. His mind, of course, went to the way her dress had hiked over smooth, toned thighs as she straddled him, and the way she looked alluring as she attacked him. But it also went to the fact that she snapped the bond on his magic and the way her eyes glowed red when she was angry. No one, not even Papyrus — who had a similar strand of magic being his brother— was able to stop Sans from using his magic, yet this utterly ordinary human _had_. He just couldn't explain it. He had tested it with several other humans, but none of them seemed to have the same power as Frisk did. 

Sans rubbed the back of his skull thoughtfully and found Undyne glaring at him once again.

"Uh... I agree with you." 

Undyne hissed, her gills flaring in fury. "So you agree that we shouldn't do something about the rat that's squealing to Mettaton? Just let him be?"

Oh. Well, damn. Sans mustered up his pride and nodded. "Yes." 

Undyne snarled and slammed her head firmly against the table. "God, Sans, what the fuck is up with you? This is the third time I've been trying to have this conversation! And every time your mind keeps on wondering!"

Sans grinned, knocked his fist on the top of his head. "Guess there's just nothin' in this skull of mine." 

Undyne let out a muffled scream into the table. "I swear to god I will—" She reared up, her fangs hissing.

The room instantly got colder as Sans' fingers flexed on the arm of his chair.  The hiss died in Undyne's throat as San cocked his head slowly. "You'll do what, Undyne?" His left eye lit up, glowing a cold, frigid blue. 

Undyne stopped and then bowed her head slightly, swallowing what ever words were about to come out. Sans relaxed, the room returning to a normal temperature. "Take me to the rat." He commanded, rising. 

Undyne nodded and escorted him away. 

Undyne was his third in command, closest to him and Papyrus. He felt just a bit guilty of threatening her, but sometimes in her temper, she _did_ forget who was in charge. Sans was a crime lord of New Home. He controlled part of the city. He wouldn't be talked down to like he was nothing. 

_You let Frisk talk down to you._  A voice in his mind said mockingly. _She fluttered those pretty eyelashes and you raised your ass like a dog in heat._

 That was... different. She was different. There was something Sans that made him want to give up control, just for a little bit. She took it _gladly_. She took it like she was _meant_ for it. Sans scratched his chest, his soul. He wanted to see her, he realized. Wanted to look into her eyes. 

This was bordering on an obsession, he thought. 

He straightened his shoulder blades and focused on the task at hand. Undine opened the door, revealing one of his men strapped to a chair. The bird Monster's head jerked up when the two of them entered, and fear lit his eyes when he saw Sans. 

"So, this is the rat." Sans rubbed his chin thoughtfully, sighing. "Jared, C'mon man. I thought we had somethin' special." 

Jared shifted nervously, his eyes flicking back and forth between Sans and Undyne. "Boss, it's not what it seems. I didn't do it—"

"Oh, shaddap, Jared." Sans leaned against the wall while Undyne straightened in between the two. "We all know you're a filthy rat."

Jared whimpered. "Boss, I didn't mean to— I was drunk, and she was _so_ tempting and—" He was trembling, Sans thought with distaste. "Look, man, I got info! I can tell you shit about Mettaton! I can help ya!" 

Sans tapped his chin lightly with a finger and then walked forward. He crouched in front of Jared and sighed. "Alright Jared, I'll make ya deal. You've always been loyal t' me. If you tell me some info, I'll protect ya. Keep ya safe."

Jared smiled, a bright, horrible thing that made Sans want to hit him. "Yeah! Okay! Thanks so much, boss. I knew I could count on you." 

Sans gestured for him to go on, and Jared started rambling. "Mettaton's really pissed off— says that his main bitch ain't there anymore. She left him, or some weird shit. He told me — personally told me — that she always had the best drugs. Always gave him suggestions on the best men."

Sans eyebrow bone raised slightly, and Jared kept going. "Actually, this bitch suggested me! That's what Mettaton said! This girl knew, knew that I was workin' for ya." Jared had a bright look in his eyes, he was caught on the bit. "Mettaton's tryin' to find her, figure out why she left, ain't connectin' with him anymore. Says that she's just poofed." 

Sans nodded slowly, slapped his hands on his thighs. "Gonna stop ya right there, Jared. You did good." He rocked by on his heels, grinned at Jared, who smiled back.

"Jared, it sucks that you're such a piece of shit." Jared only had a brief second of horror before Sans' eye lit up blue and a piece of bone speared up through poor Jared.

Sans sighed and stood up, calmly wiping away a drop of blood, and turned firmly away. Undyne watched stoically, before sighing and rolling her sleeves up. "Where ya going, boss?" 

Sans cracked his neck. "I got someone who needs a stern talkin' to." 


	5. Chapter 5

Frisk stood thigh deep in the ocean, feeling the crest of each wave slam into her stomach, the currents dragging at her legs. This section of the beach was private, so she didn't have any lobster-colored tourists or bonfire teenagers to bother her. All she had was the ocean and the sky and the wind. Slowly, Frisk slid backwards, sinking until her butt hit the sandy bottom. She was barely tall enough that the ocean waves didn't go completely over her head, just her lips. The taste of salt water burned into the small cuts along her lips. 

She gazed distantly into the horizon. If she allowed her mind to wander enough, she could see the outline of a small child and a motherly figure. The mother threw the child into the air and caught her squealing with happiness as she came back down. A lumbering father came into the picture and scooped both the mom and the child into his strong arms, lifting them out of the ocean and crashing back down until they were all breathless with laughter and soaked to the bone.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there in the ocean before she dragged herself to her feet and teetered toward shore, moving slowly against the rushing current. On the beach, the outline of a child building a sand-castle wavered. A game of volleyball. A night where the fireworks sparked far above. 

Frisk forced the outlines out of her mind, drawing the steel traps down firmly. That was her special talent. It was how she managed to have such a poker face, was being able to close her mind against unwanted things like yearning and wanting. She snatched her towel out of the sand and trudged for her house. 

She had the towel wrapped around her when she opened the fence to her backyard when hard, bony arms around her middle and lifted her into the sky. The towel fluttered to the ground as she closed her throat against a scream, kicking out.

A mouth nudged against her ear, and a husky voice whispered. "I should come here more often during the day if I get to see you in a swimsuit." Frisk's shoulders collapsed, and she stopped fighting. 

"Hello, Sans." The skeleton set her back on her feet but kept a grip on her waist. She turned, frowning up at him. "What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

He grinned and let go of her, shoving his fists into his pocket and eyed her cottage. "This is a quaint place ya got here, dollface." He said, watching her as she bent down and picked her towel up again. 

Sans followed behind her as she entered the house, barely missing the swinging door as she tried to slam it shut behind her. "How'd you get the money to afford this place? Can't be cheap." 

Frisk flashed him a dirty look over her shoulder as she rubbed the sand off her legs with her towel. "I have a job, y'know." 

He made a noncommittal noise, allowing himself to wander freely. He picked up several knickknacks, pictures, and set them back down. Frisk was growing tense as he continued to wander. He never came without a reason. 

He had given her a few jobs the last week, just questions about other crime bosses, and that was it. She had wondered about it. Surely he would want to know as much as he could about his enemies, right? Now she knew. He wanted to be face to face with her, to ask whatever important question, just in case she chose to lie over the phone.

Frisk exhaled sharply and veered for her kitchen. She needed a drink. She was aware of him following her into the kitchen as she poured a glass of whiskey and chugged it down. 

"Not gonna offer me one, doll?" His smile was ever-present as she glared at him. He stepped closer to her, slowly boxing her into the corner of her kitchen counter. Her whole body tensed as his smell wafted over her — ocean breeze and cigar smoke and whiskey. All so tantalizing and reaching for her. He wrapped a finger in her sea-soaked hair. "I miss the Frisk I met on the first day. She was so hospital." 

Frisk scowled, jerked her head away. "Maybe if you hadn't stood me up and snuck into my house I would be a little more welcoming." 

His grin came on full-force. " _'Stood you up_ '? I didn't realize we had a date planned." 

"In your dreams." 

He trailed a finger down the side of your face. "Maybe in your dreams, doll." 

She bared her teeth. "You don't know a thing about me." 

Something fierce glimmered in the white pinpricks of his eyes, a flash of something that made every instinct within Frisk rear its head. Something was wrong, something that didn't involve work. He was here for something else. 

She glanced around, a quick thing. The only way she could get away from him and to a weapon would launch herself onto the counter and slide across the island and hope he wouldn't catch her before then. She could try kicking him, but he was made of something stronger than human bone. She'd more likely break her foot than do any damage to her. 

Slowly, Frisk curved her fingers on the edge of the counter, bending her elbows and bracing herself as Sans leaned closer. 

"I know a lot about you, doll-face." His hand drifted from her face to her bare waist. "I know that you're nineteen, you were adopted when you were five years old. I know that your foster family died in a car accident and they left you your fortune." His breath ran over her face. 

Frisk laughed, hiding the anxiety building beneath it. "I'm flattered that you would do your research." 

His hand, which was on her waist, suddenly shot up and gripped her wrist, her forearm, his other hand raising to do the same. The position and the way he pressed forced her to bend backward until her spine was practically resting on the counter top. She couldn't hide the gasp as he pinned her. 

"And," He hissed, his teeth baring slightly. He had sharper teeth than Frisk realized, the canines large and sharp like animals. "I know that you purposely  _suggested Mettaton one of my men to betray me_!" The tips of finger bones were digging almost painfully into her wrists. 

Frisk's mind and body separated carefully. Her body shifted carefully, testing the bonds of her legs and arms. Sans only gripped her arms, but his pelvic bone was pressed between her legs — her thighs on each side of him — and normally this position would be incredibly sexy, but at the moment it was just terrifying. She would have to draw her legs up to get a good footing to slam her feet into his sternum and get him away. By the time she took a breath to draw in, though, he would realize and trap her legs down. If she strained hard enough, her shoulders could lift off the counter. If his face neared hers, she could try head-butting him. All of this was thought, and dismissed in half a second.

Her mind, however, acknowledged and categorized what Sans was saying. _So, Jared finally got caught, that little shit._ She thought, frowning. Mettaton must've either turn him in or he did something incredibly stupid. She assumed it was the latter. She tilted her chin up and peered into Sans eyes. 

"I never _suggested_  it, I only pushed it along." Her body was pumping with nerves and adrenaline, but her mind was calm and her voice was steady. 

Sans let out an animalistic snarl and lifted her up to slam her back down. "Quit the shit and tell the truth, _doll_." He slowly ground her arms into the counter, and her body grimaced with pain. 

She tilted her throat up toward him. "I _am_. Your man Jared came by his own free-will. I just suggested to Mettaton that he accept Jared's information. Mettaton himself knew that Jared was weak." Her eyes gazed into his calmly. "I ensured myself a position on your family by revealing that your family is _weak_."

His grip on her arms flexed, loosening slightly. And her body chose a reaction. Her legs reared up, her bare feet coming flat on his ribs, and _shoved_. Sans reared back, releasing her, and Frisk shot herself across the kitchen island, her bare skin skidding. She frantically sought a hold to stop her from sliding completely off, but Sans found it for her. 

His hand latched onto her leg and jerked her back toward him, this time on her stomach. He shoved one knee through her legs, firmly pinning her bent over the counter. His hand tightened on her wrists, wrenching her arms behind her back. He pressed his chest against her spine, and his mouth came right beside her ear. "This wasn't how I imagined our first time in this position." He said thickly in her throat, and Frisk flinched. "You manipulated me?" 

She writhed against his chest, trying to find a hold where she could get out. "I didn't manipulate you. I manipulated the weak members beneath you." 

Frisk felt his chuckle before she heard it. "Why shouldn't I kill you right here? You should've told me this at the start." 

Something scraped against her naked shoulder, and with a shudder, she realized it was his teeth. His sharp canines pressed against her flesh. Was he going to _bite_ her? He murmured against her flesh. "I could tear you to pieces with you bent over for me." 

"I can help you. There's more than a few rats who work for Mettaton and Flowey. I know them all." 

"Why are you working for me, Frisk?" Sans breathed, and she tensed. She knew what he was asking, why he asking. The truth would be the only way that he wouldn't slaughter her. 

"I want to see Mettaton destroyed. Flowey too. I want to see them on their knees, begging." There was a long moment where her body tightened in fear, her mind following suit. If he didn't believe her, she was as good as dead. She took in a careful breath, trying to decide on her next step.

He nipped her shoulder lightly, and Frisk shuddered at the feeling of _him_. Her hips bucked slightly, and her mind snarled at her body's reaction. _This was not the time to be_ horny. Slowly, his teeth dragged up from her shoulder to the back of her throat, and he held them there, gently parted. If he snapped his jaws shut, he would rip through her flesh. She shivered again, a sigh hissing out of her mouth, and felt his mouth curl up into a grin against her. He had felt her body's traitorous reaction.

"If you ever do this kind of thing again, I _will_ slaughter you." And then he vanished. 

Abruptly free, Frisk stood, whirling in confusion. He just... vanished. Poofed. Gone. Frisk leaned against the counter and realized that she just had Death nipping  her shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

Sans rubbed his skull as he stumbled out of his room, yawning tiredly. Papyrus, of course, was already up and making a racket in their shared kitchen, muttering something under his breath about a _recipe_. Maybe his brother could make something when it wasn't so fucking early in the morning?

"Whatcha makin' there, Paps?" Sans slumped down in a chair, resting his forehead against the kitchen table.

"PANCAKES." Paps whirled, brandishing a dangerously hot pan that made Sans flinch away. "IT IS A NEW RECIPE THAT UNDYNE SAID I COULD TRY. SHE THINKS I WILL NOT DO WELL, BUT I SHALL SHOW HER WRONG."

Sans mumbled something under his breath before wrapping his head with his arms. Not only had Alphys called him up in the middle of the night and tried to talk science to him, but his mind had been locked on Frisk, _again_. He had to give it to the little minx, the way she had manipulated him had been almost perfect. In one fell swoop, she revealed weak members and gotten herself a spot working with him.

And the way she reacted when he bit her... Sans groaned into the table.

"I KNOW YOU ARE STARVING SANS, BUT PLEASE BE PATIENT."

Sans lifted his head as Papyrus set down a plate, and found a stack of pancakes with worm-like tendrils sticking out. "Uh, Paps, what are the... worms?"

Papyrus had already started to dig into his stack. "THEY ARE NOT WORMS. THEY ARE LEFTOVERS FROM BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI. I MIXED THEM!"

Sans dinner from last night came boiling back up, but he swallowed it. "Well... you know what they say... _bone appetite_." He grinned at Papyrus's snarl. Sans stared down at his plate, wondering if he could somehow faint to get out of this breakfast. When he went to work, he would have to stop by the bakery and pick up a pastry. 

 _I wonder what Frisk's favorite pastry is_. Sans blinked, and his face ended up in a scowl. This had to stop. This woman, this _child_  — which she basically was — had managed to worm his way into his very brain like some sort of parasite. When his mind wandered, it wandered to her. When he saw something pretty, he wondered if she'd like it. It was _disgusting_. 

"WHY ARE YOU SCOWLING SO BROTHER?" There was hurt in Pap's voice, and Sans quickly blinked away his fury at Frisk. 

"Ah, I'm just jealous I don't have cooking skills like you, bro." Sans hoped Pap's wouldn't see the fact that Sans hadn't really eaten anything.

"THEN I WILL MAKE YOU MORE." Paps shot to his feet, forcing Sans to also shoot to his feet.

"Oh no, Paps, I couldn't—" The doorbell rang, and Sans mentally raised his hands to the gods. He was going to _kiss_  whoever that was for saving him from even trying the spaghetti pancakes. "I better see who that is— can't leave them hangin'— feel free to finish my pancakes." He was already backing out of the kitchen, darting to the front door.

"You're a savior," He said as he yanked open the door, and froze. 

Frisk cocked her head and smiled lightly. "So I've heard." 

He was going to _punch_  the gods. 

 

Sans let her in tentatively, kept his eyes on her as she slowly took in his and Pap's apartment, and couldn't help but wonder what she thought of it. Their apartment was in the penthouse of downtown New Home, with one wall of glass to view out across the city lights. It was big enough that Papyrus and Sans never felt the need to feel enclosed. 

Her dark eyes lit across the surface of their home, her face utterly blank. Sans took Frisk in. Like always, the girl was extremely well-dressed. She was wearing a soft, black sweater and a dark burgundy skirt, a scarf thrown haphazardly around her throat. Her dark locks ran down one shoulder in perfect curls. Each detail of her outfit screamed perfection, and compared to her, Sans felt like a slob in his shorts and a thin t-shirt. 

He couldn't take her thoughtful scanning of the apartment anymore, so he interrupted gruffly. "So, what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely visit?" _Uninvited_ , his eyes seemed to say. 

Her gaze snapped to him, disapprovingly taking in his outfit before she started for an armchair before the tv. She sat down primly, her back straight, and pulled out her phone. Sans slumped down on the couch beside, throwing one leg over the chair's arm. 

"Mettaton has finally reached out to me," Frisk said calmly and tossed him her cell phone. On the screen was a text message, and Sans sat a little straighter as he read through it. 

" _Be my date for this Friday's Gala? -M_ " Sans eyes flicked up toward Frisk who's eyes were already looking over his apartment again, as if she were bored. 

Or... as if she couldn't look at him for longer than a few seconds. A wicked grin slid over Sans face and he leaned forward, reaching a hand out. He slid a finger gently on her chin, pushing her face back toward his. Sans watched as her eyes flared, and a faint dusting of rose flushed her cheeks before she flicked her head out of his touch. His grin grew. So he wasn't alone in thinking about the previous night. 

"When was this?" He forced himself to get back to business, handing Frisk her phone back. 

"Yesterday evening. After you left." Sans could tell she was trying to say the words without inflection, but she couldn't hide her human flesh that was still flushed pink. She crossed her legs over the other. "He is likely wondering where I've been for the last few weeks, and is worried." 

"What are you going to say?" He was asking about her being Mettaton's date, which for some reason, gave a filthy taste in his mouth. The idea of her clinging to that human's arm and batting those eyelashes at _Mettaton_  was enough for blue sparks to dance across Sans' bones. 

Frisk was thinking business, however. "I will tell him that other families have taken notice to me helping him and that it is not safe for me to openly do business anymore." 

Sans' jaw tightened at her nonchalance of the situation. Did she not know who Mettaton was? The chances were high that Mettaton believed Frisk to be his property already, and the slimy human hated sharing. Women, drugs, guns, all of them were the same. And Frisk was _his_ , not Mettaton's. Sans blinked, only barely noticing that Frisk was still talking.

"The best way to get information on Mettaton like I did before was to make him feel like I still hold him in high regard. He will want to protect me... and _more_." The disgust in the last word was evident, and Sans felt triumphant skitter in his soul. So she wasn't entirely naive to think that all Mettaton wanted was her information. And then Frisk shrugged. "Whatever I must do."

Sans frowned at her. She was only _nineteen_. The idea of Frisk doing what she was hinting before she was nineteen made Sans sick to his stomach. She was still practically a child, how did she learn all of this? How did she learn how to cut with her words, how to tempt with her eyes? She was a child, but mind spun a thousand years older. She was _fascinating._

Sans was saved from voicing his opinion on the matter by Papyrus bursting, holding a plate of his pancakes. "SANS YOU DID NOT TELL ME WE HAD A GUEST." So, that's where his younger brother had been hiding this whole time. Pap turned his attention to Frisk, who blinked at him, no doubt recognizing Pap's from their first meeting. "HELLO PRETTY HUMAN. WE HAVE NOT PROPERLY INTRODUCED OURSELVES." 

Frisk's mouth curled into a genuine smile as her head tilted to the side. Jealousy twisted in Sans heart at the amused look on her face. Every look she had given him was always tinted in anger. _Sans_ had never made her look so... kind. 

Frisk rose to her feet and held out her hand. "I'm Frisk." Instead of getting the handshake she wanted, Papyrus grabbed the small woman and dragged her into a hug.

"YOU ARE CONSIDERED PART OF SANS FAMILY NOW. YOU MUST GREET ME, PAPYRUS, MORE FAMILAIRLY." Sans saw Frisk's shoulders tense, her hands fluttering as she tried to figure out what to do before she abruptly relaxed and hugged the taller skeleton. 

Sans was aware that his left eye was heating up. "Papyrus," His voice chilly. "Didn't you say you brought something for Frisk?" He hadn't, but anything to get Papyrus to pull away from Frisk. 

"YOU ARE RIGHT, BROTHER. HUMAN FRISK, I HAVE COOKED YOU BREAKFAST." Pap shoved the plate toward Frisk, who looked down at in surprise. Sans watched as her eyes took in the plate, bracing himself for a cruel comment that would shatter his brother, and ready to take out Frisk himself if she did.

Instead, Frisk looked up and gave Pap such a sweet smile that it took Sans breath away. "It looks delicious, I love pancakes." Whether it was true or not, Sans couldn't tell. But Pap's face lit up, so pure and full of triumphant that Frisk loved his food. Her sweet smile still curved at her face, her dark eyes glittering with mirth. _This_  was what Frisk should've looked like, at nineteen. Happy and carefree. Not what she had become. 

The thought left his stomach twisting and he stood, drawing the attention of both Frisk and Pap. "We'll be at the Gala." He told her, firmly. 

Surprise shifted in her eyes, and Sans was disappointed to see her face sliding back into business mode. "You should not go." She frowned at him. "I should be alone when I speak to him, it's the only wait to get his trust back." 

The hand that was not gripping the plate of pancakes flicked dismissively. "Not to mention, Mettaton already knows who my escorts are. New ones would be suspicious."

Sans gave her a vicious, cold smile. "I never said that we'd be there escorting you. Pap and I have also been invited to the Gala."

Pap nodded enthusiastically. "INDEED, HUMAN FRISK. I WILL BE EAGER TO SHOW OFF MY DANCE MOVES." 

Frisk frowned, looking irritated. "Fine. You cannot interrupt my work, however. Do _not_ get in my way." She commanded before stalking to the door. She paused just before she left, and glanced back. Her eyes went over Sans completely and stopped and Papyrus, flashing him another a sweet, kind smile. "I will eat your pancakes as soon as I return home. Thank you again."

Without even a goodbye to Sans, Frisk left. 

"HUMAN FRISK SEEMS LIKE A LOVELY HUMAN."


	7. Chapter 7

Frisk was aware of the disapproving look on Dogamy and Dogaressa's faces as she adjusted her hair in the mirror of the car. Dogamy's large paws tightened on the wheel, while Dogaressa leaned forward. 

"Ma'am, you know you're dealing with some powerful people," Dogaressa said, and her voice was urgent. "This is the time for going dancing." 

Frisk's shoulders tightened at her friend's rebuke. Her _friend_ , Frisk's mind reminded her. Dogaressa nor Dogamy weren't her employees, they were her friends. Yet their scolding still raked across her nerves, made her want to snarl. She knew it was because they still saw her as their little pup, crying with blood on her cheeks and asking to know where her parents were, but those days were long gone. Frisk stared firmly at her reflection and adjusted her dress before snapping the mirror back up.

She turned around to look at Dogaressa and said gently, "I know, I know. But sometimes a girl just wants to go to a Gala." She gave the Monster her sweetest, most childish smile and was glad to see the dog's shoulders relax slightly, even with the disapproval still shining in her eyes. 

Frisk wished, suddenly, that she could tell her two escorts about the job she was working tonight. But no, Sans disobeyed telling anyone. Secrets got around, and in her line of work, secrets were a dangerous thing.

"Mettaton's not a nice guy," Dogamy said abruptly, his voice gruff. "They say he hurts the women he's... with." 

Dogaressa growled softly behind her, but Frisk plastered a fake smile as the car came to a stop. As she opened the door, she glanced back at her two dearest companions, her family, her friends. "I know how to handle a rough man." She closed the door shut, and took in the sight before her.

The Gala was being held in one of the council halls within New Home, a grand building with a golden dome ceiling and lights glittering inside. She was aware of the people drifting past her, the middle class of New Home, eyeing her fancy clothes and her fancy hair and making the wrong assumptions. A voice called out to her, one that had her hair rising on her forearms.

"Madam Frisk," She slowly turned her head and found Mettaton walking toward her. She carefully slipped a flirtatious smile as his eyes dragged along her body. She was wearing one of her most alluring dress, a deep sleeveless purple with a sweetheart neckline that generously pushed her breasts up. The sides of her dress had been sliced out, revealing patches of skin around her waist and hips. The way his pupils flared, Frisk knew the effect of her dress was wearing.

Mettaton didn't look too shabby either. He too was wearing a purple suit with black accents, a pink rose in his pocket. His long black hair was meticulously combed back, streaked with the flamboyant pink he loved to throw around. To anyone looking from afar, as Frisk took his arm, the two of them seemed to be a matching pair.

"Monsieur Mettaton." Frisk said softly and leaned up to press her lips delicately onto his pale cheek. Only when she was sure that he shivered from her touch did she slowly slide away, patting his forearm. He smiled down at her and led her into the Gala. 

 

 

Sans kept himself near the wall of the Gala, leaning on it as he drank champagne. No one bothered to come near him, the vibes he was radiating was enough to scare even the most idiotic of bimbos. He had felt their eyes on him as he and Papyrus entered the room. Even he had to admit — in a bragging sort of way as he stared at himself in the mirror — he looked _damn good_. His suit was an elegant thing he kept in the back of his closet (much preferring his shirt and trousers for when he did business) but it still fits like a glove. Sans reached up and shifted his black tie. 

Papyrus looked just as handsome and was far more charismatic. Sans watched in amusement as his brother laughed in a large group of women and men alike. His brother seemed to have gotten all the loving personality, while Sans was left with... himself.

Sans took another drink, her eyes scanning the crowd idly. When he thought _'Gala_ ' he had expected a little more dancing, to be truthful. There were a view, couples hand in hand on the dance floor, slowly dancing to the band playing on the staircase, but the rest of the people — Monsters and Humans — just gathered in groups, talking and whispering and laughing. Sans wanted nothing to do with that.

Papyrus finally detangled himself from his admirers and made his way over to Sans. "YOU SHOULD REALLY TRY MINGLING, BROTHER. GET TO KNOW SOME PEOPLE." 

Sans snorted, and his fingers itched to light a cigar. "Mingling ain't my thing. You think these little rich-prisses gonna love talking t' a crime lord?" 

Papyrus gave him a look that said, ' _You do know we're part of the rich-prisses, right?'_. Sans flashed him an irritated one back, and Papyrus raised his hands in defeat. 

"FINE, BROTHER. SULK IN THE CORNER BY YOURSELF." His brother gripped his shoulder suddenly. "IT DOESN'T MATTER ANYWAY BECAUSE THE HUMAN IS HERE."

Sans turned while taking a sip and almost choked on his champagne. _Here indeed._ Frisk looked... she looked like a _goddess._  With her head raised, and the light shining on her, glimmering a faint shimmer on her flesh, she belonged more in a painting than real-life. Her lips curved into a soft, sultry smile, as she glanced toward—

Toward Mettaton, who gripped her arm possessively, as if he _owned_ her. Sans grip on his champagne glass tightened, his jaw locking. Fury, Mettaton laying a single finger on her arm. He didn't _deserve_ to touch her like that, didn't deserve to _even look at her_. Sans would kill him if he as so much as lingered his gaze on anything but her face. 

Jealousy. That's what it was, twisting his soul a vicious color of green. Papyrus didn't seem his internal warfare, and just chattered on about how _beautiful_ Frisk looked, and about how Mettaton and her were _matching_. 

He was going to _rip Mettaton to shreds_.

 

 

Frisk felt Mettaton's arm slide around her waist, his fingers brushing her ass before flattening on her hip. "You look good enough to eat, Madam." 

She forced a blush to rise on her cheeks, swallowing the bile rising as she turned to him. Frisk slid her hand up his arm to rest on his bicep. "Are you famished, Monsieur?" She purred, tracing the line of lean muscle in his arm.

This human, putting his arms around her felt... wrong. As if she had been expecting under texture as she squeezed the flesh of his arm. As if she had been expecting something... harder.

"Absolutely starved."

Frisk blinked, forced herself to focus. She hadn't seen Sans nor Papyrus yet, so she assumed that they hadn't arrived. 

 "Perhaps you would like to dance, Madam?" Mettaton murmured, and his rather large nose nudged the base of her skull. She could hear him inhale her scent, and fought down the wreck of disgust that was burning down her spine. 

"Oh, I would love to." She said and lifted her hands delicately to his shoulders. His hands gripped tighter into her waist, the other gripping her hand tightly, and they started to dance. Frisk carefully followed each movement, her dress hissing as it passed over the marble floor. _Another thing ruined for me_. She thought bitterly as he pulled her closer. Frisk _loved_  dancing, but she had also loved singing until some asshole found her in the club and tried to have his way. 

 "So, Madam, where have you been the past few weeks? I've tried contacting you." His hand slipped to the small of her back, pressing her until she was almost chest to chest with him. The new position forced her to crane her neck up to look at him. 

"In my line of work," She said softly and carefully, leaning close as if they were about to share a secret— or a kiss. "I get a lot of attention. And sometimes, that attention backfires."

He looked confused, and Frisk chewed on the inside of her cheek to avoid screaming at him. _Sans would've gotten it._ She snapped at the voice to be quiet. "I've been... targeted by other families. They caught Jared, you know. No doubt he ratted everyone out. Ratted _me_ out." 

Finally, realization dawned on his face, and his mouth pulled into a frown. "You could've come to me for protection. No Monster would _ever_ lay a disgusting hand on you."

She fought the scowl, and wondered what he would think if she told him that she had dreamt about a Monster's hands raking down her body—

Frisk raised her hand and cupped his cheek, raking her nails gently across his skin. "I don't need anyone else to protect me." 

He didn't seem to hear his words, just her touch, and he leaned forward, his lips inches away from hers. 

He was going to kiss her. 

Mettaton's eyes fluttered shut, his head rocketing toward his, lips pursed. 

Frisk sighed inwardly and didn't move her face. She had endured much worse than a little kiss. 

Frisk had a special way when she had to do the unsavory things like this. Some part of her, some mental part of her, drifted away. Faded to the background, and someone new surfaced, taking the fall for whatever was going on while her mind drifted.

If she could distance herself, then she didn't feel half as disgusting after. She didn't have to scrub her skin for three hours straight in a bathtub. Didn't have to plunge herself into the ocean and let the salt scourge her clean. 

So that other person, the person who liked Frisk, tilted her face up, lips parting slightly. That person's hand tightened on Mettaton's face as she went to her toes. That person made a perfect hitching noise as if excited for the kiss. Inwardly, that person said in a voice that wasn't Frisk's, **_I will rip out his intestines and hang them on the chandelier above us._**

That person closed her eyes and waited patiently. 

The kiss never came. A hand rested on her arm. "Excuse me, Miss." Frisk snapped back into her body at that voice, shoving away that other person, at that voice. Sans shuffled politely in front of her, and Mettaton pulled away, looking furious and disappointed. 

"What is it?" Mettaton snapped for her, silencing the words that were about to come out of Frisk's throat. Her jaw twitched slightly, but she didn't say anything. 

Sans eyes, two bright pricks like the stars, did not leave Frisk's. "Madam Frisk, you have a call waiting for you." Irritation bubbled up in Frisk. Did he not realize what was he was doing?

"I'm sure it can wait," Mettaton said dismissively and made to pull Frisk away. Sans' grip tightened fiercely on her forearm.

"No, Monsieur, I'm afraid it is _quite urgent_ ," Sans said, his gaze still locked on Frisk.

Frisk smiled then, a soft smile, and turned to Mettaton. "I will not be long, Monsieur. Perhaps then we can continue... our conversation?" She purred the last words, thickening them with _suggestions_ and _temptations_. 

Mettaton's hand gripped her hip tightly, the tips of his fingers burrowing _hard_  into her flesh before he nodded and released her. "Come back soon, Madam." He said huskily. 

Sans gave a fake little bow and hurried off with Frisk. She was trying not to scowl, but her mouth was pulling into a frown without her trying.

Sans escorted her into a secluded little room, an office by the looks of it, and Frisk whirled as soon as the dark shut. A growl was rumbling out of her throat, which died at Sans eyes glowing a radioactive cyan. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexual shit. Children beware.
> 
> If ur a child, man what's YOUR LIFE? Talk to me about it. Why you on this? Planning on joinin' a mob family? Cuz bitch me too. My biggest dream is to marry into a crime family and then slowly rip out the power for myself until I'm the crime boss.

Frisk stepped back, suddenly wary as his eyes flashed bright blue. "What do you think you were doing? I was doing _my job."_

Sans followed her, step by step. "Does your job include making kissy-faces and flirting so much?" He snapped back. His hands were glowing cerulean, sparks of ice flickering over his bones.

Frisk's mind noted that he looked quite nice in that suit, and wished he wore suits more often. On the outside, she growled. 

"Yes! I do what I have to do." She suddenly got into his face, her perfectly painted lips curling into a snarl. "And if you're going to _slut-shame_  me, then you're picking a _bone_  with the wrong girl." 

Sans stared at her for a moment, shock glittering in his eyes. She could tell his mouth was wanting to twitch into a grin. Instead, he shook his head fiercely and gripped her wrists in both of his hands. Frisk was reminded of the afternoon in her kitchen, with him locking her in place. 

She growled and arched her knee up, only for a strand of blue magic to catch it and force it back down. "Do _not_ make me break your leg." He warned, and forced her back until her thighs hit the desk.

Frisk growled, her legs fighting to break the bonds of Sans' magic like she did the last time. "God, what is your _deal_?" She tried to jerk her arms free, but he held them in an iron-tight grip. "Do you want me to do my job or not?" 

His grip tightened to the point where her bones were starting to grind together. "Your job isn't opening your legs for any crime boss in the _fucking_ city." Sans breathing was becoming labored. "How can you be alright with that disgusting filth putting his hands on you? Touching you like that? Were you just going to allow him to _kiss you?_ " 

God, she felt like they were a broken record. Frisk exhaled forcefully, her fingers forming into fists. "I would've if it got you the information—" The words froze in her throat, and she cocked her head to the side. "You're jealous."

Sans seemed to freeze himself, his eyes darkening to a deep, ocean blue. "Of course I'm not." He said, too quickly. 

She straightened and grinned. "Yes, you are. You're jealous that Mettaton was putting his hands on me." She leaned closer and murmured. "If I told you I would've fucked him for information, what would you say?"

Sans gripped her tightly, his teeth bared in a snarl, and shook her hard. "What do you want?" Even though he was rough, his voice was lover's caress.

Frisk bared her own teeth, her eyes vicious. " _Power_." She breathed and gripped his lapels, dragging him to her mouth. 

 

 

Every thought eddied out of Sans head as Frisk hooked a leg around his thigh and dragged him closer. He knew that that response should've struck suspicion in him, a worry of possible betrayal. But the way she dragged his head down to press her lip against his teeth... It made him grip her ass in his phalanges and lift her onto the desk, forcing his way between her legs. 

He felt her hesitance at kissing him. After all, he had no lips, just a hard surface around his teeth. A wicked grin slid over his face as he conjured up his tongue. Frisk let out a small yelp as Sans slid it across her lip, rearing back in shock. He smirked at her and settled a hand on each side of her. He inched closer until his pelvis rested in the middle of her thighs, watching with vicious joy at the way her hips rocked at the brief touch. 

"Even though skeletons don't have lips," He said hoarsely, and dragged his tongue up her throat, leaving a line of blue saliva. "We have _other_ talents." He returned to her mouth and snarled in delight at the way she followed. 

His hand slipped into her hair, pulling her head back to get a better advantage as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, her hands fluttering from his skull to his shoulders to his shirt as if trying to find where to put them.

 _Gods-damned, this woman_. He should've been suspicious, but the way she sucked on his tongue, her teeth scraping across his bones. It was enough to set his bones prickling, and he pressed against her more forcefully.

Her mewl, soft and tender, vibrated around his tongue as he pressed a bulge of swiftly erect magic against her thick. He smirked, removing his tongue with a wet 'pop'. Sans slowly peppered kisses down her throat, letting his saliva send erotic spikes of pleasure. There were days where Sans thanked the gods for his magic. 

 

 

Frisk was a _mess_. His magic was sending shudders through her body, like the purest of cocaine, and she couldn't help but moan. She threw her head back as he neared the neckline of her dress. He looked up, that wicked grin on his face, and teased the sweetheart edge with his finger.

"Do you like it?" She breathed, bucking her hips against his pelvic bone— trying to find _any_ friction.

"I love it." His sharp canines — the same ones she had fantasized nipping her inner thighs — nipped the top of her breast. "I would love it more if you _burned it._ " Sans looked up at her, dark cerulean eyes that burned toxic. _He_ was burning her — she was going to go into ashes — scourge her into dust on this very desk.

"A—Admit it," She gasped as his mouth, heavy and hot and _wet with magic_ , rested over the fabric of her tit. "You... were _jealous_." 

He snarled against her— she felt it in her _bones,_  vibrating her ribs. She arched her back as he tested his magical tongue against the peak. Frisk would have a wet mark there. 

"When... he was about to kiss me... w-were you imagining yourself?" She whimpered with petulance as he pulled his mouth away and returned to her face. His hands slid to her wrists and firmly pressed her against the desk, trapping her hands above her head. She whimpered as he ground that _bulge_  against the thin fabric between her and her core. 

"I was imagining ripping him to pieces," he said viciously, leaning over her. The tips of his phalanges dug into the flesh of her forearms. "I was imagining taking you right there, in the front of all those _rich_ people." 

Frisk arched her spine to the point of it crackling. " _Fuck_. Sans, you have no _idea_ — what that does to me." He stood firmly over her, bending his head down toward her, teeth _bared_.

He bit her throat, a fierce gesture of absolute _claiming_  and _animalistic—_ She felt his teeth press against her skin, so _close_ to puncturing. 

She wanted him to taste her blood. 

She wanted him to taste _her_. 

 She curled one leg around his waist, feeling the hard bone under the fabric of suit and dragged him closer. He stumbled, having to brace himself on the table to avoid flopping on her.

Frisk didn't _care_. She just wanted him _closer_ , pressed against her—

He was panting, a drip of blue magic saliva running down his chin. She strained her neck up, and dragged her tongue up, _tasting_  him—

He tasted like cigars and bone and _danger_. And man,  danger was what Frisk was yearning for. 

She traced her tongue lightly down the column of his vertebrae, delighted in the way he said her name, low and hushed, barely more than a growl. 

Frisk wanted to see _more_. Her hands flew to the tie of his suit, to the buttons, yanking and pulling— desperate to see something else. _Taste_ something else. 

He was practically crouched over the desk, his back bent in an unnatural position while she was _all over him_.

She gave him a grin, lustful and sexual and wanting. "How about we christen this desk?" 

He chuckled, deep and throaty enough that it sent shivers across her skin. "What do you have in mind?" 

She slid her hand down his chest, crooked a finger in the waistband of his pants. "Oh, I have some _ideas_." 

She felt _him_ , a throbby pulse through the layer of fabric, and wildly thought, _How does he have a cock?_ And then realized she didn't care, as long as it was _in her—_

And then suddenly he was several feet away. 

"What are you doing?" She sat up on her elbows, her voice whining. Did she do something wrong?

Sans rubbed his head, his face flushed _blue_. Oh, that was just _adorable_. Frisk almost dissolved in a fit of giggles at how flustered he looked. (Though she doubted she looked any better)

"This isn't how I want to do this?" He gestured between them, and she sat up even more. 

"The fuck?" 

"I'm not gonna fuck you on a desk in some random office," But the look in his eyes, oh, he _wanted_ to. "It's gonna be— special."

" _The fuck_?" She shot to her feet, almost stumbled on shaky legs. God, she was trembling after only _kissing_  him. "You're a _romantic_?"

He gave her that wild smirk. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

"You're just going to leave me with blue balls?" She demanded, her face flushed. 

"I think technically I'm the one with blue balls." 

She couldn't help it— her eyes slid to the bulge still prominent in his pants. He gave a soft growl of approval, and she glanced up. He was fixing his suit and gave her a nasty wink. "See you soon?"

Frisk threw a stapler at him, but he vanished before it hit him. She snarled into an empty room and looked down at herself.

 

Out in the dancing hall, Mettaton waited impatiently, his eyes locked on the door that his _lovely_ date had exited. He wasn't a man to be denied, and the woman had been giving him bedroom eyes the whole night. 

The skeleton butler passed him, and Mettaton snatched at his arm. "Where did my date go?" 

The Monster's eye socket twitched. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, but the Madam had a personal matter to attend to." 

Mettaton did not notice the skeleton's grin as he turned his back, or how the skeleton smelled distinctly of Madam Frisk's perfume.


End file.
